She stowed her field kit, got behind the wheel.
Summerset offered her a spotless white handkerchief.
“You have blood on your hands.”
She wanted to snarl, but took it. No point, either, in smearing dead cat blood all over the steering wheel.
Later, she’d think just how upset Summerset had to be not to object when she balled up the bloody cloth, stuffed it in her jacket pocket.
Instead, he folded his own hands as she drove through the gates.
“As you know,” he began, “the gate security reads your vehicle ID. I became concerned when the gates opened and closed, but your vehicle didn’t appear on the monitor in a timely fashion so I could remote it to the garage. I then checked the gate monitor, and became only more concerned at seeing your empty vehicle, the bag.”
“So you open the damn gates and stand there like some scarecrow waiting for the crows to shit on your shoulders and peck your eyes out.”
“I was hardly—”
“What if he’d doubled back? He had a damn crosstown block on me when he ran into the park. He could’ve doubled back and gutted you.”
His stiff neck managed to swivel enough for him to glare at her. “I’m not without my own resources.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your resources. What the hell would I say to Roarke if I’d come back and found you bleeding out beside that dead cat?”
“I’m armed,” Summerset said as she slammed to a stop in front of the house. “And I’ll remind you I survived worse than this thug during the Urban Wars. And beyond.”
“The Urbans weren’t on my watch.” She shoved out of the car.
He shoved out of the other side. “And what the hell would I say to Roarke if I hadn’t bothered to check, and he came home to find you dead beside that poor cat?”
“I’m a cop.”
“That makes you invincible?”
“It makes me trained.”
“As I am, as I have been longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And you figure being old means you can outrun and outmaneuver a professional killer?”
Summerset took a mini blaster out of his pocket. “I believe this would compensate for age.”
“Jesus, that’s illegal!”
“Arrest me,” he suggested. “But at this moment, I need a drink. We both need a drink.”
When he walked to the door, she pulled viciously at her own hair. Then went in after him, because she damn well did want a drink.
Galahad trotted to Summerset, did his wind and rub, then went to Eve. For a moment, the three of them stood in the grand foyer.
Summerset cleared his throat. “I saw the note on the bag. Despite the poor spelling, the message was clear. I knew our boy here was safe, but you didn’t.”
She stripped off her jacket, tossed it on the newel post. “I want a really big drink.”
With a nod, Summerset walked into the parlor. He poured her a generous glass of wine, and himself three fingers of whiskey.
“When did you start carrying a blaster in your damn pocket?”
“Since Liam Calhoun got past my guard and into the house, and you stepped in front of a stream meant for me. Lorcan Cobbe will not get into the house.”
Because he found the entire incident upsetting, Summerset sat.
“How the hell did he know we have a cat?”
And because he’d had time to think of that, Summerset sighed over his whiskey. “He may have used an amplifier when he shadowed me today.”
“He—What? When?” She didn’t want to tear her hair out now. She wanted to tear Summerset’s out. “Why am I just hearing this? Where?”
“Oh, sit down, girl, instead of pacing about.” Summerset drank some whiskey, rubbed his temple. “I told Roarke, and he will—or would have—of course, told you. During my marketing—the open-air market.”
“You saw him?”
“No. I felt him. I know when I’m being followed. He never approached, and I’d have known, so he must have used an amplifier and overheard me talking to Mr. Tilly, the fishmonger. We chatted about our cats, as he has two Persian females. I bought salmon for Galahad. The shadow faded away not long after that. I felt it.
“He butchered that poor animal, one that might have been someone’s pet, because I bought salmon and chatted about cats.”
“He butchered that animal because he’s a sick fuck, and wanted to see what I—or Roarke, depending on who got here first—would do. He stepped into plain sight—just like he did at the murder scene—so I’d see him.
“He laughed,” she added. “I could see by his body language. It was all a big joke.”
When Galahad leaped into her lap, stretched his considerable weight across it, Eve gave him a long, slow stroke. “If the body or the hair have anything to say, Morris and Harvo will find it.”
Summerset took a small device out of his pocket. “Roarke’s at the gate. And so are your crime scene people.”
“Crap. Crap. I should’ve alerted him.” She took another drink. “Oh well.”
“So should have I. I’d say we were both a bit distracted. Sit,” Summerset added before Eve got up. “I’ll bring him in.”
She had to get to work, Eve thought. But this had to come first. Stroking the cat into delirium purrs, she laid her head back, closed her eyes for one precious minute.
She heard the door open.
“And why are sweepers at the gate?” Roarke demanded. “Refusing to tell me more than ‘Ask the lieutenant.’ ”
“She’s in the parlor having some wine. Go join her. I’ll take those.”
She sat straight, eyes open when he came in. Delirious or not, the cat deserted her to greet the next member of the family.
“What the bloody hell, Eve?”
“Cobbe left a dead cat—in a sack with a note—at the gates.”
“A cat? Why would he …” Roarke looked down at the pudgy gray ribbon winding between his legs. “Ah. He tailed Summerset at the market. He must’ve somehow figured we had a cat.”
“Salmon from a fishmonger—a word I don’t understand—and another cat person,” Eve said.
“Amplifier,” Roarke surmised.
“He was a block away—made sure I spotted him. I pursued him into the park, but he had a big lead, and I lost him. I have security sending me the feed, but I’m figuring he zipped back out again, kept going.”
Struggling with fury, Roarke tugged his tie loose as he dropped into the chair beside Eve’s. “He may have tried to get in.”
“Summerset didn’t say anything about the alarms. He would have.”
“Doesn’t mean Cobbe didn’t try a jam. I’ll check. A note, you said.”
“Curiosity killed the cat. You’re next. With bad spelling.”
“You found it when you got home. You must’ve thought …”
He stroked the cat, who’d now chosen his lap.
“My head knew better, but yeah, for a second.”
Summerset came back in. “Wine or whiskey?”
“I’ll have the whiskey.”
“I understand you’ll need to go up, work on this matter, have a meal, but I should tell you both about my discussion with Ivanna.”